


All the Things the Silence Says

by Rachie_Boo123



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Angst, Buddy System, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Gift Fic, Hurt No Comfort, Mythical Secret Santa 2019, Season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:27:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21827437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rachie_Boo123/pseuds/Rachie_Boo123
Summary: A silent house is a lonely house. The unspoken words cocoon their victims; encapsulating them, suffocating them, isolating them.And they were suffering.ora slightly different take on S2E07 from Buddy Systems with even more angst
Relationships: Rhett McLaughlin & Link Neal
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8
Collections: Mythical Secret Santa 2019





	All the Things the Silence Says

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skyler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyler/gifts).



> This gift is for: Skyler (Cheshiretwink on Tumblr, rosielaruu on Instagram, and skypibbs on Twitter)
> 
> I hope you love this fic! I have Bleak Creek but haven't gotten around to reading it yet, so I went with Buddy Systems season 2. This is only my second RandL fic and my first Buddy Sytems so I hope I portrayed them accurately. Happy Holidays! 
> 
> From your secret santa: Rachel (bloody-fucking-cigarettes on tumblr, rachel__york on instagram, and rachelfork6 on Twitter)

A silent house is a lonely house. The unspoken words cocoon their victims; encapsulating them, suffocating them, isolating them.

And they were suffering. 

Without the presence of words, the air almost tasted stale, like with nothing being said the oxygen had less meaning. 

The sound of a clock ticking, the pop of a toaster, the hum of a television, a drawer closing. 

These were all things you could hear in the house _because it definitely wasn’t a home anymore_. But what you couldn’t hear was the banter the men shared, the petty arguing over Link’s taste in food and Rhett’s new food of the week _and how they definitely clashed_. You couldn’t hear the laughter that used to waft from the very windows and seams of the building or the muffled whispers that still seemed to echo in the bunks of their bedroom. 

It was silent and still. 

Rhett didn’t say anything because Link didn’t say anything. 

Link didn’t say anything because Rhett didn’t say anything. 

And Rhett didn’t say anything because- well, he actually wasn’t so sure anymore, because he really, _really_ wanted to talk to Link. 

But Link didn’t say anything because Rhett didn’t.

So, the silence grew and so did the space between them. 

They soon began to realize, It’s not the big things you notice or even miss the most. It’s the little things, those are what make a home. 

Rhett missed the way Link would make his toast. It was something so simple, but _so_ _Link_. He did it the same way every time, two slices toasting at a time, stacked carefully, and then cut methodically. It was almost annoying how routine he was. Except when it _wasn’t_. 

Link missed the way Rhett would hum when he styled his hair, which took way too long in Link’s opinion. He would spend hours, fingers carding through the golden locks, twisting and pinning it until he was satisfied. The messy pile on top of his head he called a bun, being an actual styled look. It was almost annoying, except, now that it was _gone_ it didn’t seem so bad. 

And now, there was _nothing_. An empty hole carved into their home, a gaping wound that no matter how much they ignored it, _ignored each other_ , it wouldn’t go away. In fact, it only got worse. Like the wound was infected, ignored for far too and was beginning to bubble under the surface of the skin, refusing to go away unless addressed. And if not the hosts of the wound would slowly die off, eaten alive by the infection. 

Like most things the men did, it turned to the extreme. First, it started with not talking to each other, then not talking in the house, and now neither seemed to do much talking at all. And as far as each other were concerned, they had become mute. 

Their vow of silence, made hastily in a fit of rage, which funnily enough, Link can’t remember why he even got so mad at the taller man in the first place, was turning into regret the longer it went on. Yet, neither did anything to stop it. Their stubbornness becoming their downfall. 

Link would have something exciting to share and get so close to telling his roommate that the words are forming themselves on his tongue before he realizes he can’t and realizes there is no one else to listen either. So, the sentence dies in his throat before he speaks it and so does a little piece of him every time he does so. 

Every time Rhett receives his new meal he wants to show Link. Get him to try the new concoction and watch his face twist and turn as the new flavours envelop his senses. But every morning, when the food is delivered, he silently opens it and stares at what is laid before him, thinking of all the things he could say to Link to make him smile, to make him come out and fucking _talk_ to him. 

Instead, like always, he says _nothing_ and eats his meal in silence. Rhett isn’t sure if the food has just gone downhill lately or if his tongue hasn’t healed completely from being burned or if maybe Link just made everything _better_ , even the taste of food because lately it’s all been muted. Foods that would normally make his mouth water and his taste buds explode seemed to do nothing for him now, the repetitive motion of _taste, chew, swallow_ which he used to enjoy more than almost anything was just a tedious task he could do without now. 

At night is the worst, the house is dark and dim, the world outside as silent as their house is on the inside, only making the quiet all that more deafening. Their nighttime routine, which Link had unknowingly rubbed off onto Rhett, was a separate affair now, sans of laughter and smiles. The only sounds being the splash of water, the rub of a hand towel, and the spit of toothpaste into porcelain. 

And at night, when they lay in their bunks in the dark, neither asking a single question or telling a story about their day, is when it becomes _painfully_ obvious that the _heart_ of the house has been ripped out. The pain so debilitating that the pair can’t help but _cry_ into their pillows, _biting_ onto the fabric and _digging_ their nails into their skin to stop any sound from escaping. Because that’s what was important right? _Their silence_. And soon, there won’t be anything left to fix. _Anything left to say._

But perhaps _tomorrow_ , they would both think _every_ _night_ , the other would say something and they could go back to being _friends_ again. 

**Author's Note:**

> So I hope you like angst! I enjoyed writing this for you and I hope you enjoyed reading it. This is my first mythical secret santa and it was a lot of fun. Please let me know what you think!


End file.
